


The story of a meddling matchmaker, or twenty-five terrible days to Christmas

by miss_Carrot



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Advent Challenge, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Rule 63, always-a-girl!Bilbo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-02
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:25:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_Carrot/pseuds/miss_Carrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One could say three things about Gareth Gray: he always donned gray coats, he had a heart of gold, and he was the most terrible matchmaker one could imagine. And everything would be well, hadn't he planned to set up his geeky secretary, Bonnie Baggins, with his long-time friend, Thornton Oakenshield. And send them to a romantic journey into the wild mountains, because nothing forges love as well as the constant fear for your dear life. It had to work, hadn't it?</p>
<p>Or a short guidebook how to destroy somebody's Christmas and help them find a love of their life in twenty-five simple steps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> I am so weak. I see a prompt and I cannot resist. I see twenty-five prompts and... well, sensory overload.
> 
> This is a modern!AU story written for the series of one-word prompts of Hobbit Advent Event (http://hobbitadvent.tumblr.com/). The idea is to write a chapter story with each prompt being the chapter title. So it would make 25 chapters of a silly Christmas-y romantic comedy. Let's hope it will work - and that the spirit of Christmas will do something to my brain and time management skills.
> 
> As I found this meme a bit too late to be on track, I'll be posting (hopefully only) one day later than the schedule goes. 
> 
> My knowledge of Old Church Slavonic is limited, and I apologize for any errors I made. My knowledge of English is slightly less limited and manarai beta-read the text for me, but I'd be grateful for pointing out any remaining mistakes.
> 
> More tags will be added when necessary.

If there was something Thornton Oakenshield hated, that would be surprises, lizards, and waiting - not necessarily in that order. So when he finally made it to the huge glass-and-steel skyscraper where the headquarters of Triwizard Inc. was located, and learnt that “Mr Gray left the building about two hours ago and hasn’t come back yet, sir, why don’t you wait for him in his office, floor twelve, this way, no, not there, it’s this way, sir” - he was positively furious. Was he still living in the middle ages? No? So could no one call him? He didn’t have to hurry here like a madman. He took a deep breath as the elevator’s door opened, preparing himself to vent off hist frustration on the incompetent secretary of Gray, when he heard a low, warm female voice.

If there was something Thornton Oakenshield loved, it were low, sweet female voices. If his deeply hidden collection of Cassandra Wilson records was anything to judge by, that is.

He pushed the door slightly, just to make it ajar, and peeked inside. From what he could see, the office looked like a granny’s living room. The desk was covered with a green tablecloth trimmed with lace, and decorated with a vase full of holly. There was a collection of small pictures in oval frames over the desk. And there was the secretary he was just about to scold: a petite woman - or a girl, actually - with round, slightly chubby face, snub nose and a mess of honey-gold hair, which she was fiercely sticking a pencil into.

“No, no, Mr Thranduil, as I told you…,” the girl said in the most beautiful, melodic voice. Her scowl, however, would probably melt the desk if it wasn’t made of good wood. “No, surely that’s not the case… I assure you that our servers are protected and I promise that no one is going to steal your signature and sell it to Nigeria… No, certainly not… Yes, they do have internet access in Nigeria. Maybe I could suggest sending it via post?” The secretary closed her eyes and crossed the fingers over the pencil. After a second, relief showed all over her face. “Yes, in a traditional letter… Yes, that’s perfect, thank you, Mr Thranduil! Have a nice day too. Oh, but wait, don’t. Just don’t, you… you nasty toad!” The secretary said in the same pleasant, warm voice, just slightly louder. “Do you want to know how it sounds in the Old Church Slavonic, do you, you _z’il’i zhaba_? Can I help you with something el… Who’s there?”

Thornton cleared his throat, pushed the door open and entered the office. After a closer look it was more like a granny’s study - especially the rocking chair and the bookcase full of well-worn tomes. The secretary, however, on a closer look, seemed slightly older that he previously thought, but no less ired.

“How can I help you?” she asked in that kind warm voice of hers. He was fairly sure, however, that what she meant was _How can I end you?_.

“Do you really speak Old Church Slavonic?” The question slipped out of his mouth before he could stop himself. The girl shot him a death glare, which was even more creepy because of the pleasant smile she kept on her face. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ask about that.”

“I certainly hope so, because no one speaks Old Church Slavonic. It’s a _dead language_ ,” she added with a nod. _And everyone knows that_ , it seemed to say. Suddenly the phone speaker she still held beeped. Thornton cleared his throat again.

“My name is Oakenshield and I have a business meeting scheduled with Mr Gray. Who, as I was told, left the office and is unavailable now. Which I wasn’t informed about.”

The phone beeped again. The secretary looked at it, and then back at Thornton.

“Me neither,” she said. The phone beeped once more and he could swear she twitched slightly. “I believe it was because the last fifty minutes I spent talking with a customer, and Mr Gray just couldn’t get through. Which he tried,” she assured, and looked at the beeping phone again. “Nine times at least. Or ten. I apologise, sir.”

Thornton barely suppressed a shiver. She was truly sorry, he could hear that - her voice became slightly darker, touched by an emotion other than anger. Well, if that woman was to entertain him with a conversation, Gray could as well never come back.

“I am sure Mr Gray will be back soon.” She stood up and went closer to him, gesturing over a sofa standing in the corner. She was really tiny - of height, that is, because in general she was rather chubby. She held herself bolt uptight, and clearly tried to appear professional. He would fall for it if it weren’t for the Old Church Slavonic toad. “I’ll contact him immediately to inform him about your presence - if you don’t mind waiting, that is?”

“No, not at all.”

“I’ll bring you a coffee, then - or a tea? Or maybe a glass of water?”

“Tea, black, no milk, no sugar. Thank you, miss…?”

“Baggins. Please give me a minute.”

When she left, Thornton decided to walk around the office. The small pictures over the desk showed some landscapes of a tranquil village in summer; the books turned out to be some linguistic theses, something in Russian he couldn’t decipher and a handbook or two on Old Church Slavonic. There was also a small table clothed with a crocheted doily; there was a beautiful glass bowl on it, full of chocolate cookies. He took the doily between his fingers and admired the fine craftsmanship. A handwork, no doubt.

“Put that down! Sir. Please.”

Thornton startled at the cry and dropped the doily. Miss Baggins looked at him like one would at a savage using ancient parchments to wrap up a sandwich, and again gave him a nod of contempt. Which was quite impressive, he had to admit, as she simultaneously managed to balance a tray with tea utensils, hold a phone under her chin, and close the door with her elbow.

“This is a doily, not a hand towel,” she informed him, placing the tray on the table and arranging a nice composition with the cookie jar. She didn't forget to smooth the folds of the doily, of course. “It's a Kenmare lace, and when I say Kenmare, I mean it. It's more than a hundred years old.”

“I was merely admiring its beauty, Miss Baggins,” he assured her with as solemn face as he could muster. It must have convinced her, because her face softened and a small smile appeared in the corners of her mouth. Thornton found it rather cute; he wondered if she had dimples when smiling broadly.

“It is a beautiful piece indeed. Please help yourself,” she added, opening the cookie jar for him. He wasn't a sweet tooth, but they were smelling deliciously. He sat on the sofa, took a cookie and enjoyed the rich aroma of chocolate. “Mr Hargrave will be here in fifteen minutes, he sends his sincere apologies for this unpleasant situation.”

“It's not a problem at all,” Thornton lied, hoping to charm her into a conversation to bask in the warmth of her voice. Not that it was one of his strongest points, but they had already some topics to start with. Chocolate cookies, laces, or even toads. Probably even he will surely manage to make her talk to him, somehow. “So, what is your favourite travel destination, Miss Baggins?”

She gave him a confused look from behind her desk. “I'm not much of a traveller, Mr Oakenshield. I prefer the company of my books, I must say.”

Well, that was a surprise. Not that Thornton suffered for a continuous wanderlust, but he'd imagine that someone working in Triwizard Tours, one of the leading tour-operators both home and abroad, would rather be interested in travelling.

“Well, it comes as a surprise, I must admit that,” he managed after a while, and it sounded awkwardly even in his own ears. “But isn’t it a bit boring, dwelling in these old tomes all the time? Wouldn’t you like to go and see those Old Church Slavones… or Slaves… or whatever they call themselves?”

Oh. Not good. Definitely not good, if the suppressed hiss was anything to judge by.

“No, I wouldn’t. Because they are dead.  _Extinct._ Not existing anymore.” If he was to imagine a potion, it would be like her voice right now: sweet as sin and deadly as a well-sharpened knife. Miss Baggins straightened up, cleared her throat and added, face and tone so professional and impersonal that it almost hurt: “Is there anything else I could help you with, sir?”

And there he was, charming her into a conversation. Brilliant, Oakenshield, Fred would be so proud of you, he thought to himself, shaking his head and declining politely. The silence was so unnerving that he grabbed another cookie, considering the sound of chewing a better option. It helped so after a while he took another one. He considered asking Miss Baggins if she baked them herself – maybe then she would stop shooting him her killing glare for dropping crumbs on the precious doily of Kenmare – but he decided against it. Today odds were not in his favour.

For a brief moment Thornton wondered how it sounded in the Old Church Slavonic.

In the middle of his seventh cookie – and when he was sure that he either develop diabetes or will turn to stone under the scolding gaze – he heard a sound of rushing steps in the hall. Miss Baggins startled and dropped the pencil she was jabbing a piece of paper with. The door swung open and Gray appeared, the grey tails of his coat and his long beard flapping dramatically. Small lumps of snow fell from his hat to the ground.

“Thornton, my friend! Please forgive me my late arrival!” Gray shook Thornton’s hand vigorously and dropped by him on the sofa. Miss Baggins rose from her seat and quietly left the office. “It was quite unexpected, but I heard that our old rival, Angmar Holidays, is coming back to the play, and I just had to check it… Oh, Bonnie, you are a dear!” He smiled, seeing Miss Baggins with another tray and cup. “Would you mind putting it right here… And now, smooch!” Gray drew a branch of mistletoe out of nowhere in one feline movement and held it between Thornton and Miss Baggins, grinning like a maniac.

Thornton went completely still, and - he was sure of that - coloured up like a fresh tomato. Miss Baggins, on the contrary, visibly twitched, and her face became white as a chalk. He was just about to say something clever to ease the tension, but she didn’t give him a chance.

“I think not! _O’s’’l’a!_ ” Having said that - in a slightly vibrating voice, as he noticed - she turned on her heel and rushed out of the room.

Gray cleared his throat and chuckled lightly. “A charming girl, isn’t she. And very clever, does her PhD in those old Russian hieroglyphs. You two would make a lovely couple!”

“You really could be a bit more subtle about it.” Thornton knew better than to talk Gray out of matchmaking. He was a meddlesome old man, always with the best of intentions of course, but tell him to stop sticking his nose in the affairs of other people was like telling a sun to stop shining. “Read your Jane Austen again.”

“I assure you, my young friend, that I’ve never had to turn for advice to anyone, even to the classics.”

“Right, you’re a natural. Any ideas for the incentive trip I asked you about?”

Gray smiled like a hungry cat and his eyes gleamed with excitement. He took Thornton’s arm and pulled him towards the door. “Come to the conference room and see the project for yourself. I put up a presentation, you’ll love it. I named it _The journey to the Lonely Mountain…_ Oh dear!”

They both stopped, because a small crowd of people gathered in front of the door. They were clearly waiting for something, eagerness all over their faces. Touched by a bad feeling, Thornton risked a quick glance upwards. Just to his worst expectation, a bunch of mistletoe hung just over his head.

“Well, Mr Gray,” a young, freckled man said with an evil grin, quite similar to Gray’s own. He must really be an unbearable matchmaker, Thornton thought, too shocked to protest. “Smooch!”

Before Gray’s bearded face blocked him the view, he saw Miss Baggins standing in the corner. There was triumph all over her face, and in the very last moment she smiled.

Indeed, she _did_ have dimples when she smiled broadly.


	2. Gingerbread

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your kind receipt of the story! <3 Here goes the update - I'm sorry for the length, I hope to keep the next ones longer.

 

“Bonnie Baggins. You are the most insolent creature I’ve ever met. And believe me, I have some experience.” Lobelia kneaded the dough fiercely and inclined her head towards the cupboards. Bonnie nodded, took one of the bags and sprinkled flour all over the table. “Mr. Gray is going to fire you some day.”

“Yes, he is. But then he’ll hire me just back, because he won’t be able to find a single document.”

“You’re quite full of yourself, aren’t you,” Lobelia muttered and attacked the dough with a rolling pin. Bonnie took out the biscuit cutters, pondered a moment and chose a Christmas tree.

“No, I just know him well. Besides, I did exactly what he did.”

“Yes, but he’s your boss. Move on, I want to cut out some too!”

For a moment they worked in silence - Bonnie with her trees, Lobelia with reindeer. Then they made small holes at the top of the cookies to pass a ribbon through them later on.

“I feel like an ancient warrior woman, hunting those reindeer with a spear,” Lobelia said, biting her lip. Bonnie couldn’t but laugh at this notion - Lobelia, all prim and proper, chasing deer in the wild. “What?!”

“Nothing,” she assured, but Lobelia didn’t look convinced. “I’ll put them in the oven. Go, make yourself pretty - you know that Otho is always a quarter earlier.”

“I _am_ pretty enough,” Lobelia muttered, but went nevertheless. It seemed that it was serious between her and Otho; so serious that Bonnie expected a diamond ring any day actually. With a sigh she shoved the backing tray into the oven and started to clean things up. Lobelia usually was a control freak; Lobelia planning her own wedding will be unbearable. There was no other choice for her than to finish her thesis quickly and find a job in the farthest corner of the Kingdom, it seemed.

Suddenly a door in the first floor creaked and a deafening wave of noise hit her eardrums. A high shriek managed to get through it, though. “Bonnie, your mum is calling you on Skype!”

“Thank you!,” she shouted back, but there was only a marginal chance that Primula would hear it.

The door closed and the noise subdued. Bonnie murmured a thankful prayer that her eardrums were spared this time as well, wiped her hands on her trousers and went up to her room. Her mum was calling indeed - six times, apparently. And four times on the mobile. With a sigh Bonnie entered a video conference. After a few seconds the screen blinked and her mum’s tanned face appeared on it.

“Hello, love! Have you been baking?”

“Yes, I have.” She nervously run a hand over her head and could see a small cloud of flour. “The gingerbread cookies, from dad’s recipe.”

“Delicious,” mum agreed with a broad smile. “Take some of them to Gareth, will you? He has this great project he just told me about, this journey to the lonely mountain or something like that… He wants you to take part in it, love!”

Bonnie couldn’t but roll her eyes. It was the same sermon all over again. Go somewhere, they said, meet someone, do something with your life. Like doing a PhD wasn’t a challenge enough.

“I am taking part, mum. I prepared the slide show and all the prospects.”

“You know what I mean, darling. You can’t go on like that all the time, you need to go somewhere, meet someone…”

“And take the cookies out. See you later, mum!”

The gingerbread cookies could use some more time in the oven, but mum didn’t have to know that. She took the phone and went through the list of missed calls. Four from mum, one from Primula, three from Mr Gray - and a text from him, too ( _U liek 2 share in an adventure? Ttu in office 7 PM. xoxo G_ ). What made her think, however, was a missed call from an unknown number. It has left a message on her voice mail, too. It was weird, as the number of people who knew her number was very limited; she made it clear that she doesn’t wish it to be shared without her permission, too. Which could mean only one thing - it was Mr Gray who shared her number. Of course, why would he care for her polite request? Nasty old gremlin.

Irritated and curious in equal parts, she opened the voice message. Her phone burbled, harrumphed and spoke in maddeningly familiar voice: _Good evening, Miss Baggins, this is Thornton Oakenshield. I am sorry to bother you so late on your private phone, but Gareth Gray insisted that I personally invite you to the business meeting today at 7 PM in the Triwizard Tour office. I’d be very grateful if you could come, Miss Baggins. Good bye._

Of course. Of course the damned meddling creature would do something like this: use a poor, unknowing soul to drag her to the office, then torture her with his idiotic ideas of her travelling god-knows-where, and then see her writhe trying to refuse politely. Mr Oakenshield’s feelings would be hurt, naturally, Gray would pull his _I’m-so-disappointed-with-you face_ , and her mum would give her a sermon on wasting her chances.

And then she’d have to eat the big box of chocolate ice cream with truffle sauce and whipped cream to feel _slightly_ better.

She glanced on her phone once again and froze. It was almost quarter past six. Which meant that the gingerbread cookies were in the oven at least five minutes too long, and that she had only fifteen minutes to brush the flour out of her hair if she was to make it to the office on time. She shook her head vigorously all the way down, leaving clouds of flour wherever she went. All the cookies - not burnt at all, if one squinted a little - she put in a paper bag; Lobelia would complain about them either way, and men can’t see any difference when it comes to sweets.

Beating the remaining flour off her clothes, she grabbed her coat and the cookie bag and run towards the bus stop. She caught the bus, but it was more a miracle than anything else. Snuggling on the seat by the heater, she gave out a long sigh and caught a whiff of the gingerbread. The cookies were warm against her lap and she decided to take one, just to taste. It was good, she decided, even if burnt a bit at one side. Dad’s recipe was foolproof, that’s for sure.

“We should definitely make some more of them,” she murmured to herself, biting off a head of another reindeer. Now, when she had time to think, she wasn’t sure if it was good idea to go to the office at all. Screw Gray, but she didn’t want to talk with that Oakenshield guy either. Either he was a low educated barbarian, Bonnie pondered munching on the fifth cookie, or just a spiteful creature who laughed over an overweight, awkward, geeky girl. Well, considering his appearance, it was rather the latter.

When she made it to her stop, almost half of the cookies were gone. Bonnie felt the weight of them - or guilt, hard to say - on her stomach when she went to the elevator. She could only hope that it would go quickly and a simple _thank you but no_ would solve the problem. She opened the door to her office, which was empty and with no traces of unwanted presence. There were male voices audible from behind the door to Mr Gray’s office and, to her horror, she didn’t recognise any of them. For a brief moment she considered turning around and running away, but she was the daughter of Bella Baggins after all - even if usually she didn’t like to remember about that. With her heart in her throat and the cookie bag in her hand before her, as if it could shield her from these unknown people, she knocked at the door.

The voices quited in an instant. All she could hear now were Mr Gray’s footsteps, nearer and nearer.

“Bonnie, my dear girl, you came! And you brought the gingerbread cookies!” he exclaimed upon opening the door. She dared to glance inside the office and the world spun around her wildly. In the room there was an army of huge bearded men. “Thornton Oakenshield, I present you your personal tour assistant, Miss Bonnie Baggins!”

“Just a moment, please,” she mumbled in a weak voice, and blacked out.


	3. Mulled wine

 

Thornton drew a breath, exhaled loudly and counted backwards starting from five. It didn't help; he still wanted to kill someone with brutal force. Gray or himself, he wasn't sure though. All he wanted was an incentive trip for his team - his company performed really well this year and people deserved something special to celebrate it. So he went to his friend, who happened to specialise in unforgettable incentive trips into the wild, and asked him for help.

And all he got in turn was the choice between being sued for not performing CPR on time and being sued for sexual harassment.

"Get off, you fools, she can't breathe!" Fortunately, it was Blaine who rushed to help Miss Baggins. He at least had some sort of medical certificate, he used to be a mountain guide once, so maybe it was slightly less harassing. On the other hand, however, he was an old bearded hippie and had a rattlesnake tattooed on his right forearm. Luckily enough, it seemed that the kiss of life wasn't necessary. Blaine laid Miss Baggins on her back, untangled her scarf and undid the top buttons of her coat, muttering something about the lack of fresh air. Someone opened the windows and after a few seconds Miss Baggins blinked and inhaled deeply.

She was rather cute, Thornton thought, and the dark red of her coat suited her well. Then he thought himself a creep, having such thoughts about an unconscious woman, and looked away. And because his life was simply unfair, he had to see Fillin and Kelan waggling eyebrows meaningfully. Ignored it with dignity, though, that's what he did.

"Is she getting better?" Kelan asked, rubbing his chin, still only barely covered by stubble. Before anyone could answer him, though, the door was kicked open and Dylan appeared in it, holding a huge steaming cauldron in front of him. The smell of cloves, honey, cinnamon and sweet wine was almost overwhelming.

“Come on, lads, let’s start celebrating!”

"Oh, perfect, thank you, Dylan!" Gray, who was silent and probably slightly concerned during the whole event, now almost jumped in place. He rushed to his desk, took his cup, poured the remains of the coffee into the pot of a half-dead fern standing nearby, and reached towards the cauldron. "The mulled wine should help our poor Bonnie!"

"I wouldn't say so," Blaine muttered, shaking his white head. "Alcohol won't help her!"

"But it won't hurt much, either," Miss Baggins said in a weak voice, her eyes still shut. “I think I could use a drink.”

With some help from Blaine, propping herself on the elbow, she reached for the cup and drained it in one go. "Mmm, nice. Much better." With a little more support she managed to sit up and, breathing deeply, she looked around. The paleness of her cheeks didn't forecast anything good though. "I wouldn't like to be rude, but could anyone explain to me what am I exactly doing here?"

"Would like to know myself," Dylan growled. Miss Baggins winced visibly, and became even paler. She straightened up though - the motion Thornton recognised from their previous encounter - and put her chin up.

"Well, I believe that I have every right to be here, Mister..."

"Fundinson," supplied Dylan, eyeing her suspiciously.

"Mister Fundinson. What I don't know, though, is - what do I owe this pleasure to?" Miss Baggins looked around with her brows up. Of course, she had to stop her gaze on Thornton, hard and accusing. Thornton shifted slightly under its weight. "I believe it is a kind of, pardon my French, stupid prank..."

"I am sorry to interrupt," Fillin said, clearly not sorry at all. From each of his fingers hung a beautiful white teacup, decorated in cobalt blue flower pattern. “But the mulled wine is cooling down.”

This proposal was welcomed with sheer enthusiasm, Dylan and Kelan being the first ones to reach for the cups. Miss Baggins apparently liked the idea of mulled wine too; she turned towards the cauldron with a weak smile. But then she saw Fillin pouring the drink to the cups and growled. Positively growled. Dylan’s hands shook slightly and the cup he was holding almost fell to the ground. It didn’t escape Miss Baggins’ attention and she growled again.

Thornton thought that the sound of it was infuriatingly, unbearably sexy. He definitely could use a drink, too.

“What. Who. _WHAT_ are you doing with _my mother’s_ coffee set!?” In one swift movement she was on her feet, and in a trice she was pulling the cup out of Kelan’s hands, spilling the drink all over. “Are you all nuts!? Who _did allow_ you…” Then, in one jump of an enraged tigress, she was standing by Dylan and taking the cup from him too, “or you to _touch_ them!? Use mugs, for goodness sake,” she snarled, somewhat quieter, “from the cupboard over there.” Having said that, she drained Dylan’s cup and put them both on Gray’s desk and marched off to her office room.

The silence that fell after Miss Baggins left was almost deafening. Suddenly, Dylan chuckled.

“I might like her, you know,” he announced and clapped Thornton on the shoulder.

“Go bring the mugs,” he replied, rolling his eyes. “And you,” he turned to Gray, who was standing by his desk and shaking violently from suppressed laughter, “you go and do something about all this. And, for sanity’s sake, finish this idiocy, find me someone suitable and let’s get down to business!”

Gray left, still chuckling, and Thornton shrugged of Dylan’s offered cup. He drunk directly from the ladle, which evoked mild protests from Blaine and Fillin.

“Can we take her with us, uncle?” Kelan asked, eager like a puppy. Fillin nodded his approval, slurping his wine. “She’s great when she’s angry, she would scare off any bears or wolves! That’s a brilliant idea!”

“The question is,” Blaine said quietly, stroking his beard pensively, “where it came from. I’ve always know that Gray is, well…”

“As mad as a hatter,” Dylan supplied, not even bothering to lower his voice despite Thornton’s shushes.

“But what made him think that this poor girl would like to join us? She’s so distressed…”

“Well, she’s a daughter of Bella Baggins,” Thornton said with a shrug. He couldn’t blame anyone, it had been hard to believe for him as well. “Anyone could expect…”

“Wait. What? You mean Bella Baggins?” Kelan rose from his seat, eyes glowing wildly and cheeks flushed. “The Bella Baggins? The conqueror of Nanga Parbat? The one who wrote No one shot first and dug gold on Kyzyl Kum? You are so kidding me.”

“Let’s pray to good heavens he is,” Dylan muttered, looking at the closed door between the offices with mixture of shock and horror, and then refilled the cups.

*

The door behind her creaked but she pretended not to hear it. Last time when she felt so miserable was in the high school when she proved that the French teacher was an incompetent cow. But then everyone laughed at the poor lady and she felt sorry. She couldn’t make up for it, though.

“Bonnie, dear,” Mr Gray said in a calming voice, hovering over her. “Don’t cry.”

“I’m not _crying_ ,” she sniffed and felt for another fudge. She had had the feeling that she’d need something for cheering up and now she was prepared for the worst. “I’m _eating_. I don’t want to talk about it right now, I want to sit here, stuff myself fudges and be miserable.”

“Do you?”

She squinted to see him better in the dark, but it wasn’t really necessary. He had this omniscient look on his face, nasty old troll. Of course he knew better what she wanted, _everyone_ did.

“Mr Gray, you _promised_ me that I’d have nothing to do with the actual travelling when I started working here. You promised me that there won’t be any meetings with customers, that there won’t be all - this.” She gestured weakly towards Gray’s office. For a brief moment Bonnie wondered what they said about her, but shook these thoughts away, as she always did. “Why do you do it now?”

“Because you _need_ it, Bonnie Baggins. You need a story and they need a storyteller. Think of what you’ll write, my dear.”

“I’m not my mother. I’m just who I am.”

She hated saying it. It was admitting a failure and Bonnie Bagins hated to admit a failure. She preferred to let it skip her attention and order a double-cheese pizza just to celebrate life. Being a daughter of Bella Baggins, the famous traveller, writer, and war correspondent, was hard; being an awkward, overweight, swot of a daughter of Bella Baggins was almost unbearable.

“But when you’ll be back, you will not be the same.”

“Don’t throw this catchphrase at me, _I_ came up with it!”

Then suddenly the door to Mr Gray’s office swung open and one of these bearded savages run into her room, roaring as a crazy lion.

“Oh my gosh, you are the daughter of Bella Baggins! You really, really are!” The creature grabbed her shoulder and shook it wildly. “Can you get me an autograph!?”

“Mr Gray,” Bonnie said in the low voice, trying and failing to free her arm, “I think I’m in.”

Well, in the worst case she’d pin the blame to the alcohol.


	4. Snowfall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry, but real life happened to strike back and I simply wasn't able to finish this one quickier. I'll do my best to get back on track during the weekend.
> 
> Thank you all for your support! <3

 

There was a thunder and a lightning, but there was something wrong with them. The thunder stopped after a moment, but the lightning didn't - on the contrary, it came over to her and started to shake her shoulder.

“Bonnie, Bonnie, wake up! You'll miss the dinner!”

“Mmmnghooo...!”, she gurgled, hoping to scare the lightning away, but apparently it was persistent. Nasty old static electricity. “Shoo!”

“Oh, come on!” The world shook and shivered in its foundations, the freezing wind hit her body and some brutal power forced her to sit up.

Bonnie tentatively cracked one eye open. The weather anomalies turned out to be Prim, of course. Lobelia knew better than to wake Bonnie up on Saturday. Because it was Saturday, right? She didn't have to go to work, did she?

“Bugger off, Khaleesi!” Bonnie grumbled and felt for her cover. Her head hurt like hell, the light was unbearable and for some reason she couldn't pinpoint she was sure that getting up today wasn't the greatest idea. Yes, there was nothing which could dissuade her from crawling under her covers and falling asleep...

“Lobelia is making the trout in lemon slices, especially for you.”

Oh. Well. Maybe there was one such thing, or two, if Lobelia prepared some dessert as well.

Prim made Bonnie brush her teeth, wrapped her up in a fluffy bathrobe and helped her go downstairs. Without her it would be impossible - Bonnie's head was heavy like a millstone and each sound made her squirm with ache. With Prim by her side, though, she was in constant pain - most probably she wouldn't be able to keep her mouth shut for three minutes in a row even if her life depended on it.

“...and then I was like, okay, ask me out then, and guess what!”

“What...?” Bonnie asked weakly, heading towards the kitchen. She basked in three seconds of silence, but then Prim positively _chirped._

“And he did! Oh my gosh, isn't it, like, perfect? He looks like Khal Drogo, I mean, he doesn't wear the eyeliner, but come on, the guy is soooo... Mmm, yum!”

Bonnie wasn't sure whether the last part referred to the new embodiment of Khal Drogo Prim picked up during her last night of wild clubbing, or to the smells of Lobelia's cooking. There were days in which she wanted to kill herself for showing Prim _Game of Thrones_.

“My my, you look terrible,” Lobelia said without even bothering to glance away from the frying pan. “Did you really went to work yesterday? Because judging from your smell...”

“Mulled wine, Gray’s treat” mumbled Bonnie after a long, painful moment of thinking. She spotted a bottle of water on the counter and made a weak gesture towards it. Prim giggled - a terrible noise, indeed - and handed it to Bonnie. She added a glass with an effervescent tablet too. “It was, uh, a bad idea.”

Lobelia didn't say anything more about it, just served the trout with a slightly condemning expression on her face. Prim, however, talked a mile a minute; from the constant chirping noise Bonnie managed to understand that the Khal Drogo which she was recently meeting picked her up in the Internet. The last information somehow got through to Bonnie's hurting mind. Prim was the youngest of their three, still in her undergrad, and her fascination with the city lifestyle made her mum worry. Bonnie gave out a grave sigh.

“Look, Khaleesi, I really don't think you should meet with strange men whom you just know from the Internet...”

“I don't think that you have any higher moral ground right now,” Lobelia interjected. Bonnie blinked and looked at her, deeply puzzled. “Don't put that face on me, young lady, you came home yesterday totally... well, _totalled,”_ she added with a small shudder, “and you told me - laughing like a mad, mind you! - that you drank gallons of wine with a bunch of strange men. So don't you dare to lecture Primula, Bonnie Baggins!”

Oh. That was not good news at all. Bonnie closed her eyes, forcing her brain to remember the events of yesterday. She remembered that there were some nasty creatures defiling her mother's porcelain, then the speech Gray gave her, and that she agreed to do something for him... But what precisely and, above all, why she agreed to participate in Gray's shenanigans, was a blur. It was something about writing, wasn't it...

“Did I say anything else?,” she asked in weak voice. “Anything?”

Prim and Lobelia exchanged worried looks, then Lobelia stood up and left the kitchen.

“You said quite a lot, you know,” Prim informed her, concern visible all over her face. “Mostly about opening a new chapter of your life, not being only your mum's daughter anymore, writing books, adventures, and handsome barbarians.”

Well, except the last two parts, it was the usual content of Bonnie's rants. Not that she did anything about it, but she intended to. Some day, for sure. Well, she was on good track with writing her PhD thesis, and it's practically a book, right?

Prim cleared her throat, rubbed her nose and went on. “And, well, you said as well about, um, going to a holiday trip.”

“To climb Mount Elbrus,” added Lobelia in a dead voice, coming into the kitchen waving a bunch of paper sheets. “You signed a contract to do that. And become the expedition's tour assistant, translator and writer.”

Bonnie digested this information in silence, chewing the trout mechanically. Lobelia placed the papers – the contract, apparently – on the table before her. The signature, even if somewhat askew, was clearly hers. She thought about it some more and then sighed with resignation.

“Is there any dessert? I’d need to leave soon.”

*

Even if Bonnie’s favourite part of the year was spring, she did admire the Rivendell Gardens in each season. Now it looked very picturesque in the dim light of street lamps, with the trees covered in snow and small icicles hanging from the branches. Big clusters of snowflakes were falling from the lead-grey sky. Despite her rather miserable mood Bonnie smiled to the snowflakes, then looked around to check if any of the neighbours was out for a walk, and then stuck out her tongue. Catching snow with the tongue was _fun;_ when she was a kid, she had this never-ending contest with her father who would catch the biggest snowflake. This time she’d win, that’s for sure.

“Good evening, Miss Baggins.”

“ _Kei bi’s’’_!”

Bonnie usually did not use swearwords, but sometimes the knowledge of an uncommon language was handy. If she wanted to send anyone to the devil, Blaine Fundinson didn’t have to know that. Judging from his expression, though, he already did.

“I am sorry for having startled you,” he said and, to her deep confusion, offered Bonnie his arm. After a heartbeat of hesitation she accepted it and they started to walk slowly between the white trees. “And for spoiling your play.”

“Oh, please, forget about it!,” Bonnie begged nervously. She could feel her cheeks flush. “I used to catch snow like that when I was a child, and I just couldn’t resist, and…”

“Neither can I,” he interjected, shaking his head a little with a small chuckle. “And please believe me, Miss Baggins, that an old lawyer doing it makes more of a sight than a young girl.”

She chuckled too, even though she didn’t believe him at all. Except the beard in the Santa Claus fashion, he looked like a lawyer in his well-cut woollen coat. His profession distressed her a bit, though; she usually had problems to convince people - and by _problems_ she meant _constant failures_ \- so the thought of negotiating something with a lawyer made her knees wobble a little. But she had to be brave, or at least that’s what she told herself all the time. She took a deep breath.

“If you want to cancel the contract, Miss Baggins, we can arrange for that.”

She was so shocked that she stood abruptly, turned and looked him in the eyes. Blaine was smiling, kindly but sadly. Bonnie couldn’t stand it, so she averted her eyes and looked at the yellow heads of the street lamps instead. When she was little and looked for a road to Narnia, she inspected each lamp post with great diligence. Even today she felt a tinge of nostalgia and hope when she looked at the dimmed light scattered by falling snow. “And that’s it?” She asked after a while, still unbelieving. “We can just cancel it? Then why didn’t you tell me as much over the phone?”

“Because I wanted to explain to you why I’d like to ask you not to do it.”

“And why is…” A huge snowball hit her straight in her nose. The second one followed closely and knocked her beret from her head. “Stop, you idiot, _b’esou’m’i_ , _drev’i_ …” The third one missed her by an inch, an only because she ducked for her hat. “I said _stop_ , you _old nutter_!”

Blaine stood on the path and laughed like he was mad indeed. He picked up Bonnie’s beret, brushed the snow off of it and gave her with a small bow.

“You see, I really couldn’t resist,” he said, helping her with the snow on her coat. “But now, maybe I could make up for my offence and invite you for hot chocolate and gingerbread cookies? We’d talk it all over.”

“And then you are going to play out my guilt?”

“I solemnly swear not to. We ate your gingerbread cookies,” he added with a wink and offered her arm again. “And you do need to warm up, Miss Baggins.”

Bonnie shook her head and accepted the arm and the offer with a nod. Blaine suggested a small cafe nearby and she accepted it as well. They manoeuvred between people and trees towards the east gate of the Gardens.

“Was it your favourite pick up technique?” she asked, looking at the white branches above her head. “Attacking girls with snow and then using your wiles to ask them out for a hot chocolate?”

“I can’t have _wiles,_ I have a beard!” Blaine protested, mocking a scandalised tone. “No, actually I was very shy and it was my wife who picked _me_ up, she… Oh, dear god!” he shrieked, when a heap of snow felt onto his head and shoulders. Laughing he shook his head to get rid of it. “You little witch!”

Bonnie felt a bit like a witch indeed; who’d think that such a small tug of a branch would generate this amount of snow?

“Now we’re even,” she said, helping him to brush the snow off. “And we’ll split the bill.”

“Agreed,” he muttered and smiled at her. “A revengeful girl, are you? That’s good, Bonnie Baggins,” he added in a very serious tone. “That’s why we need you.”


	5. Tradition

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, but real life is catching up. I hope to make up someday, somehow, but it will definitely take me more time than to 25th December. My work and my studies are recently much more demanding, and I virtually have no time to write. But I'll do my best!
> 
> This part wasn't beta-read, sorry for that :( Anyway, please take a look at the endnotes too ;)

The first thing which made Bonnie wonder was the easiness of Blaine’s movements. Leading her between the tables of the small café he chose, he didn’t appear to look for the place. On the contrary, he led her towards a small, cosy niche which – according to the not insignificant experience Bonnie had with cafés – should be occupied all the time. And yet it wasn’t, which meant that Blaine had orchestrated all this, the nasty old lawyer…

 “You planned all this, didn’t you,” she muttered angrily, not even bothering to formulate the question. “You dragged me here, and now you’ll guilt trip me into your shenanigans…”

“Miss Baggins,” replied Blaine calmly, ushering her onto the armchair, “I believe that there is a reason for which you contacted me – and not Gareth Gray, for example. Or Thornton, for that matter,” he added after a while. Bonnie could only hope that her cheeks weren’t as red as she supposed they were. The last thing she remembered about Thornton Oakenshield was her calling him an infuriating handsome savage, or something like that. “I think we both know that I will not play games with you. I’ll tell you the truth and you’ll make your own decision.”

Even though she still had her suspicions, Bonnie nodded – frankly speaking, she was a bit curious about this whole farce. They placed their orders – chai latte and a chocolate muffin for her and double espresso with caramel crisps for him – and Bonnie snuggled herself comfortably, ready to listen. Blaine however sipped his coffee for a while, clearly pondering over something.

“What is your favourite part of Christmas?” he asked all of a sudden. Bonnie, who deliberated whether or not clear her throat meaningfully, startled a bit.

“Reading,” she answered, and couldn’t help but smile. “We - I mean my parents and I - always give each other books as gifts. Other things too, of course, but there is no gift without a book. And then we read parts of them aloud, sitting around the hearth. It's silly, and sometimes boring too,” she added with a quiet chuckle, thinking about the last year, when she read aloud fascinating paragraph about proto-Slavic declension. “And sometimes we need good internet connection to do so, when mum is away. But we do it anyway.”

Now she felt silly and more than a little abashed; maybe she shouldn't have told him that. Each family surely had some silly traditions, but people didn't share them with just a stranger, even if the given stranger was kind to them. But Blaine just nodded slowly.

“I believe that your mother usually receives the travel writings, right? Like _Wandering the Paths of the Dead_ , or _The hitchhiker's guide to Arda_?”

“Yes, of course,” Bonnie nodded; she always read them too, later on. Reading travel books was one of her guilty pleasures and it bested the actual travelling in about million of ways, the first of them being that it didn't require going anywhere. Maybe that's where people got the wrong notions that she was a traveller. “Last year I gave her _All rivers end in Dale_ , you know, the one about climbing the Lonely Mountain, and she absolutely loved it. Did you read it?”

“Yes, I did. Both the manuscript and the version after the first revision,” Blaine replied and looked her directly in the eyes. “That is, just before the author decided to cancel our contract and sell his book to Smaug Enterprises.”

Bonnie looked at Blaine, blinked several times and looked at him again. Still deep in her thoughts, she munched down the muffin and twisted the paper cup between her fingers, and, after a long while, asked very carefully:

“Are you trying to tell me that that the man I called an uneducated savage, if I recall correctly, is the owner of the Oakenshield Press? The one who wrote _The journey to the East_?”

“I think it was brainless inferior lifeform,” rumbled a voice behind her. Blaine, the sneaky creature, didn’t even blink, when Thornton Oakenshield crouched behind her. “At your service.”

*

It was not like Bernie Baggins couldn’t use the modern technology – he knew everything he had to about internet and was quite good at preparing slideshows for his lectures, thank you very much. It’s just… the letters had been romantic. The video conferences were _beeping_. They became sort of normal now, though – they used them to talk each Thursday. Tradition, one could say. But even now, he wrote letters to Bella, put rose petals or dried rosemary between the pages and stored them in a box. When she came back, they always sat together crouched in a blanket, her hair and skin smelling of foreign winds, and Bella read aloud the letters about small, home things. It was sort of tradition, too.

“Bernard? Are you there, my friend?”

Including Gareth Gray in their video chats was something new, though.

“Yes, um, good evening, Gareth,” Bernie managed. It’s not that he didn’t like this man, he _did_ , he respected him as well. Just sometimes there was too much of him in Bernie’s life. And Bella’s, for that matter. Suddenly Gareth’s face – babbling all the time about snow, not that Bernie was listening, but it was hard to just shut off - shrunk and Belladonna appeared on the screen too. She smiled at Bernie and he smiled back. “So, what prompted this international conference, darling?”

“Bonnie is getting married!” Gareth exclaimed, throwing his arms in the air.

Bernie suddenly felt very weak. He took several deep breaths, clenched sweating palms in fists. These weren’t good signs at all.

“Bernard, Bernie, honey, breathe deeply! Go and take your drops, now!” Belladonna shouted from behind the screen. “Gareth, you idiot, you’re as subtle as the French Revolution! Honey, is your heart all right?”

“It’s all right,” Bernie agreed and even managed to smile to Bella. But it wasn’t, it wasn’t all right _at all_. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She isn’t getting married,” Belladonna said soothingly. Gareth gurgled and gave out a small noise protest, but she hushed him straightaway. “She just met one of Gareth’s friends and, well, Gareth thinks they make a wonderful couple…”

“The most wonderful!” Gareth nodded and his beard flapped comically. It looked even funnier because of the slowed motion on the screed. “They’re a match from heaven.”

Bernie took another breath. Thirty two years ago he felt in love with Belladonna Took, they got married and lived ever after as happily as they could get. And while no one told him that in his face, Gareth Gray – his wife best friend from her early youth – claimed that they were the worst couple one could ever imagine, because there could be nothing more boring and limiting for Belladonna Took than a boring swot of a husband like Bernard Baggins.

“And what does Bonnie think about this _wonderful_ match?”

“She’s charmed!”

“Shut up, Gareth! That’s what we want you to find out, love,” Bella said. “Gareth says that she’s on a date with the guy right now, and…”

Bernie never was a tall man, but when he stood up and neared to the camera, he suddenly seemed huge. Gray startled visibly and leaned back a little, much to Bernie’s satisfaction.

“You – you troublemaker! You meddling creature!” He said, poking Gareth’s face on the screen. The stabbing in his heart grew a little, like it always did when he was distressed, but he had to focus on other things right now. “How dare you interfere in my daughter’s private life…! Tell me where she is!”

“I don’t interfere,” Gray protested, “I just _help_ them to get to know each other!”

“Bernie, don’t get nervous! Calm down, honey, go and take drops…”

“I don’t want any damned drops!” Bernie shouted and hit the table with his fist. His heart stabbed strongly and he had to sit down, breathing heavily. Oh, bugger. Bella would be upset now. But he had to finish what he’d started. “I want to know where my daughter is and if she is all right. As to _why_ she is there, manipulated by you…” he paused and poked Gareth’s face again, “we’ll talk about it later on.”

Several minutes later, in an unbuttoned coat and hat put askew on his head, Bernie rushed towards the metro station. His hand was clenched over a scrap of paper with address of a small café scribbled over it. Last time when he was involved into courtship – his own with Belladonna – he learned a very nasty left hook; so now he’d go there and teach this – this _scoundrel_ , who played with his baby girl’s heart on Gray’s orders, a good lesson. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here goes a small picspam I did for this fic, featuring Bonnie, Lobelia and Primula. It's not perfect when it comes to the choice of the actresses but for some (mysterious, duh!) reason I couldn't find anyone fitting who would be chubby (come on, round face isn't chubbiness!), but they’re alike enough. I hope you’ll like them! :)
> 
> Bonnie:  
>   
> Lobelia:  
>   
> Primula:  
> 


	6. Bells

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, everyone! And thank you a lot for your support, I am so grateful for it.

“Look, I get it. I really do.” Bonnie rubbed her nose and looked at her plate. The last bite of the raspberry muffin lied there and seemed to return her unsure glance. She looked at Thornton - they were on first name basis now, which was slightly unnerving - and ate the remains of the muffin straightaway to hush the pricks of conscience about eating too much. “What I don’t get though is why you decided to turn to me instead of my mother.”

Thornton shot her a look from above his coffee cup and shook his head. She could swear he hid a smile behind his cup.

“Despite of what my nephew Kelan thinks, the whole world doesn’t revolve around your mother, I promise.” The lacking conviction must have been clearly visible on her face, because he put the cup down and repeated very seriously: “I promise, Bonnie. Didn’t Gareth tell you why I agreed to include you in the team?”

“Why did _you_ agree?” she repeated with a slight hiss audible in her voice; the curiosity took over, though. “How come?”

“Gray showed me your writings,” Thornton said simply. Then, he reached to his briefcase and took out a handful of rumpled papers.

At these words the world shook in its foundations and Bonnie grabbed the table’s edge to keep herself from swaying. That old, nasty creature! And she thought he was her friend! With horror clenching her belly she was torn between the need to deny everything, run away and never leave her bed again, and the urge to snatch the poor sheets out of Thornton’s hands and cradle them to her bosom.

“He gave me the printouts without any name on them, just to check if I liked the style,” Thornton went on, unaware of the turmoil that took place in her head. “And I must admit that I did, very much so. I didn’t expect the loads of such dry wit…” He placed the papers on the table and Bonnie snatched them straightaway. Thornton blinked, shocked by her behaviour, as she started to check what Gray, the despicable traitor, had given him. “And I swear that I learned about you being the author only after you fainted in Gareth’s office.”

Bonnie wasn’t listening to him. Frankly speaking, she was deaf to the world as she went through the papers. It seemed that Thornton received almost all her short stories based on the office life, several articles for the local newspaper of her parents’ neighbourhood and one longer story about her holidays in Scotland which she originally included in a letter to her mother. He read them all very carefully, judging by the notes and highlights throughout the whole text at least.

“If I had my journey described by you, I am sure it would be a great read. Believe me, Bonnie, I have read hundreds of travel books, both privately and for business reasons, and I think you have your place in the branch. No, I am sure of it.”

Bonnie finally spared him some of her attention and she wasn’t sure what to think of his words. “You are too kind,” she said, playing with the dessert spoon. “Too flattering. You won’t tell me that my surname has nothing to do with it - your lawyer was quite frank about that, you know.”

“I won’t,” Thornton admitted, looking at her. He could stop that, couldn’t he, thought Bonnie, dropping her gaze to the table. With him leaning towards her so close and his eyes fixed on her so intensely she felt almost like it was a date. But it wasn’t, and she’d better remember of that to spare herself the sadness later on. “But I’ll tell you the truth - what I really want from you is only the smooch. The book!” he corrected himself straightaway, but it was too late.

“The _what_?!” Bonnie hissed, leaning back in her seat and gathering all the papers to herself in a protective gesture. Thornton coloured up in a heartbeat, taking the colour of a fresh beetroot. “The _smooch_?!”

“I’m - I’m sorry!” he stammered, reaching hand towards her in a slow motion, as if to calm an angry cat. “It was just a slip of tongue, I didn’t mean it!”

“You didn’t… Oh, _id’ k bis'i_!” she yelled, hitting the table with her fist. Before Thornton could react, she pulled some money from her purse, threw it onto the table and stood up abruptly. “Did you hope for some more fun at my expense? Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you!” Having said that, she snatched her coat and beret and stormed out of the café.

*

Thornton never had much luck in the so called love life. As his brother Fred used to say, he might have all the external prerequisites, but he couldn’t talk with a girl without screwing something up, even if his life depended on it. Now, Fred wasn’t around anymore, but the trueness of his words still lingered in Thornton’s mind – even now, when he tried to chase his almost-contracted-reporter along the snowed street.

\- Bonnie! Please wait, let me explain! - he called, manoeuvring among the strollers. For someone so short and chubby she was quite fast. - Just listen to me for a moment, will you?

The traffic light changed to red and Bonnie stopped for a moment, looking around nervously to find another way. He was faster though.

\- Let me explain - he asked, huffing heavily, reaching to catch her arm, her angry glare however stopped him in the middle of the movement. - Please.

\- There is nothing to explain - she answered and looked away to the traffic lights which turned green like they were working on her command. Her voice was low, vibrating with emotions, and Thornton felt like the worst bastard, not only for causing the distress, but also for relishing the results of it. - Just – just leave me alone, will you?

Before he could convince her, though, he had to save her from a human missile, tugging her behind him. Someone rushed into them with significant speed, missed Bonnie by mere inches and punched Thornton hard in the arm.

\- Just leave her alone, will you?! - the attacker demanded, punching him again.

\- Are you mad or something? - Thornton yelled, trying to protect Bonnie from the old nutter. - You leave the lady alone! - He pushed the man slightly away, but he was very stubborn, prying again.

\- Shut up, both of you! - Bonnie shrieked and run forwards, and then punched them both. She was all coloured up from cold and anger and Thornton couldn’t but think that she’s cute as a button. - Dad, button up and tie your scarf, you’ll get a cold.

\- No time for that now, little Bunny. - The little man sized him up and curled his hand into fist and shook it intimidatingly. - It seems that someone needs to taste the Baggins Left Hook!

\- Wait, what? - Thornton asked, dumbfounded. - Dad…? - he repeated, and looked firstly at Bonnie, and then at the man. Bonnie nodded and rolled her eyes, and then tugged her father’s sleeve.

\- Come on, dad - she muttered, sending Thornton her last deathly glare. - You’ll have a heartache because of this stress, it’s not worth it.

He registered the fact that she insulted him; Thornton, however, didn’t yet fully comprehend all the information from before.

\- Little bunny…? - he repeated in a weak voice, and couldn’t but grin. Bonnie’s cheeks became even redder, even if he wouldn’t deem it possible.

\- Are you laughing at my daughter, you - you rascal?! I’ll teach you…

Thornton braced himself for the left hook the man mentioned; the hit, however, never came. Bonnie’s father froze with his left hand prepared, lifted his head and seemed to listen to something carefully.

\- What the… - Thornton started, but Bonnie shook her head vigorously and placed a finger upon her mouth. Which was sweet and adorable gesture, and became even more so when he saw a small smile tugging her mouth corners up.

With the other hand she gestured somewhere up and behind him; he risked a glance and saw a church tower. From which bells ringed out beautifully, he noticed - _Carol of the bells_ , of course. He looked back at Bonnie and her father, both listening to the chime with smiles, apparently sharing a memory. Thornton wanted to leave them and explain everything somehow, or maybe ask Gray for help, but Bonnie shook her head.

The carol ended, but the echo of it lingered for a moment in the cold air. Bonnie’s father blinked as if he woke up from a trance and focused on Thornton again.

\- Does he deserve the Left Hook, love? What did he do to you? - He asked, his eyes not leaving Thornton’s face for a second. He might be old, plump man, but his gaze was so fierce that an unpleasant shiver went down Thornton’s spine.

\- He said that he wanted a - a _smooch_! - Bonnie uttered, her face falling again into a distressed grimace.

\- But of course he does. You are a pretty girl and everyone would like to kiss you, Bunny dear. But if he is allowed to… - Bonnie’s father made a dramatic pause and cast at Thornton a glare which left no doubt as to where Bonnie learned hers. - That’s another story.

\- I assure you, Mr Baggins, that I have only honest intentions…

\- Assure my daughter about that, not me. - He turned to Bonnie and Thornton let out a sigh of relief. A while longer and he would faint under the pressure of this man’s look. - One call, Bunny dear, and this bloke here will meet with my fist. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a call with your mother scheduled.

\- Say hi from me - Bonnie asked, kissed her father on a cheek and adjusted his scarf. This was such a caring gesture that Thornton couldn’t but smile and imagine that she would fuss about him the same way. A shiver run down his spine again, yet of another kind entirely.

\- Will you let me explain now? - He asked, when her father left and she focused on him again.

\- We can walk to the metro station together – she allowed with a sigh. - But please don’t make a story out of it. I’ll go with you - she said and dropped her gaze. - If I won’t die from a heart attack on the airport, that is. So we can skip the part in which you convince me and just go our ways.

\- But about… um… the smooch… - Thornton cleared his throat and inhaled deeply, hoping that he wouldn’t start stammering now. Bonnie shook her head, but he continued nevertheless. - Well, the thing is… Would you go for a coffee with me? - he blurted out finally, unable to finding any words which could explain his slip.

\- But I agree to partake in the quest. The matter’s settled.

\- No, I mean… Not to discuss things! Just for a coffee! - He rubbed his eyes, desperately trying to gather thoughts. - And to discuss… other things. - He looked at her helplessly. Oh, Fred would laugh at him with no end if he learned about it.

But maybe he wouldn’t, because she was looking at him openly and quite helplessly too.

\- Okay. Right. Okay - she muttered more to herself than to him. - In _The Prancing Pony_ tomorrow at six thirty? - She asked with a little gasp which made him smile.

He agreed. She smiled, waved at him and went down the stairs to the underground. Thornton watched her go, and then stood there for a while, wondering how he managed to accomplish it. More luck than he deserved, really. Having decided that, he turned back and tried to focus on going back to where he left his car. If he was to meet her tomorrow punctually, he’d better get to know the route.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OCS - Word of day: Bonnie says "Go to hell!" BTW, I don't think I have yet written a character who'd swear as much as she does ;)


End file.
